


It's a Hayloft

by ComposerofDiscord



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: I had too much stupid fun writing this XD, M/M, sorry but not sorry, too many rooster puns, unsexy sex in a hayloft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerofDiscord/pseuds/ComposerofDiscord
Summary: "Bruce wanted to die at the thought of a tractor, and sweating farmer Clark on said tractor… This place was killing him."Written for the MS Paint Bang prompt:What's a Farm?





	It's a Hayloft

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this very unsexy smut in a hayloft, friend. And also, I'm sorry if I got some details mixed up from your prompt since it's been a little while since I last read it. Nonetheless, I hope this makes you laugh. Thank you for the lovely/wonderful prompt, and here's your smut!

Fuck Clark! But actually… fuck him.

Bruce had the farm boy pressed against the splintering wooden panels of the barn. As he hitched Clark’s leg to wrap around his, to press against him further, a bit of red paint would chip off and Bruce would feel a little bit of petty satisfaction whenever he saw it.

Good riddance. He was a city boy, and this whole place was out to get him. It was only fair to chip away some of the paint, to see part of the land crumble in payment for his Gucci – specially imported Italian leather shoes –  and the mud that now covered his tailored Armani suit.

Not only was it fair to see the barn crumble, but it was also fair to see Clark, this country bumpkin quiver beneath him. Oh, he would make Clark pay especially in full.

“Bruce,” a mischievous smile crossed the man of steel’s features, “I know you’ve been having a rough time here, but it’s not all bad on a farm.”

Bruce scoffed incredulously, but then he felt strong hands reaching to lift him up, and now he was the one being carried.

“Ever done it in a hayloft?”

“Are you saying fucking in a hayloft is the only redeeming quality to farm life?”

“That and other things.”

“Such as?”

Clark set Bruce down momentarily to reach behind a barrel of hay. From behind it, he pulled out a red, plaid blanket which he laid down on top of a lose pile of hay.

“Come here.” Clark reached his hand out to Bruce, and Bruce, against his better judgement, took it. Clark pulled Bruce to him, and slowly lowered themselves down on the blanket.

“Comfy?”

“As comfortable as I’m going to get.” Bruce scoffed, “Now take off your pants already.”

Bruce reached for Clark’s buckle as Clark couldn’t help but laugh at Bruce’s eagerness. Bruce ignored him. He nearly whipped the belt out of its loops, and yanked Clark’s worn-out jeans along with his boxers with it.

“God…” Bruce swallowed.

“Hm, that’s another nice thing about farm life.”

“Your cocks?”

“Oh, yeah, our cocks won blue last year... but I don’t think that’s the cock you’re referring too”

“That cock of yours better drive me crazy or you can cock-a-dooodle-do the fuck off.”

Clark laughed, “Oh, I’ll have you crowing soon enough.”

Bruce wanted to punch him – kick him. He really should have, but damn Clark, his erection wasn’t viciously murdered throughout the whole roosting love affair.

Bruce blamed the heat, or the mud, or the entire goddamn farm for the pheromones that were pumping through his veins for that could be the only explanation to this.

“Bruce.”

Bruce looked up at Clark. Mid rant, his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own – one very uncaring to the rest of Bruce’s body and mind – for they had wrapped themselves firmly around Clark’s cock. It would have probably been painful for a normal man, but Clark wasn’t normal, and by the breathless grin he was receiving, he seemed to like it.

“Bruce,” Clark said again. “Raise your hips.”

Bruce did, and Clark slipped Bruce’s pants down to the Billionaire’s knees before those unearthly hands – dirtied by the earth itself – slipped beneath the waistband and wrapped around him in a way that made Bruce forget about the world entirely.

“Shit…”

“Good Shit?”

“Shut up.” Bruce growled. He’d swear their number one goal was not fucking at all at the moment when all Bruce wanted was to be plowed.

“Goddammit.” Bruce wanted to die at the thought of a goddamn tractor, and sweating farmer Clark on said tractor… This place was killing him. It was actually driving him insane.

Strong fingers raked through Bruce’s impeccably groomed hair, making it as frayed and messy as the inside of his skull felt. Instead of turning soil, Clark turned his thoughts with every gentle caress.

Then Clark’s sinful hand reminded him exactly where it was, and Bruce’s mind was scrambled once more. When Clark had devastated Bruce of all clothing was a mystery, but it wasn’t long before Bruce felt his back pressed against thick wool, and greedy fingers prying at his ass.

The first two fingers were rushed affairs at best, but the third was a deliberately slow stretch that made his toes curl and his hands fist in goddamn hay – a rude reminder that he was indeed in a hellish barn – hayloft – whatever this level of Dante's Inferno this was called.

“Come on.” Bruce growled impatiently. He wanted to forget the hay beneath him. He wanted to forget the cold, slippery mud he had face planted into, he wanted to forget it all, and only Clark driving into him could do that.

“Clark, don’t make me wait until the fucking cows come home.”

Clark laughed. “Not into Exhibitionism?”

“No, I don’t want a cow seeing us fuck.”

“What about the chickens?”

Bruce glared at him. “Go suck an egg, Kent.”

Clark pressed a kiss between Bruce’s furrowed brow. “Relax, I’ll protect you from all those peeping toms, and their perverted cats.”

_‘I hate myself.’_ Bruce internally cursed. _‘For still being hard.’_

His self-hatred swiftly dissipated when he felt Clark thrust into him. There was little preamble as the movement was deliberate. His hands scrambled to anchor themselves around Clark’s arms, holding on until Clark was fully sheathed inside him.

“Okay?” Clark asked after a moment, laying sweet kisses across Bruce’s sweaty hairline.

Bruce felt disgustingly hot. The alien furnace on top of him and in him was 99% of the problem. No one should radiate that much heat. It made Bruce want to push Clark away, but his hands trembled to do so. It was an internal struggle, literally, to want Clark inside him but his sun-like heat away from him.

Bruce finally decided what he wanted. “Move.”

Clark did. He gave a shallow thrust, as to test the waters, before his strong hands came to cradle Bruce’s hips. Bruce felt himself being arched, bent in a way that made him feel Clark’s every movement.

Yet at the same time, he felt the straws of hay through the wool blanket scratching at the back of his shoulders, and the sweltering heat of the barn, that seemed to have no ventilation whatsoever, was suffocating.

But then Clark would reach a part of him, making his entire being twitch and fray. It scrambled his thoughts entirely as he pulled the living-fucking furnace closer.

“Feel good?” Clark whispered cool air against his ear, sending a blissful shiver down his spine. “Do you still hate the farm?”

“I… h-hate this barn.”

“We’re in a hayloft.”

“I’ll fucking call it… what I want.”

“Hayloft, Bruce, hayloft.”

“Shut up.”

“Say, you like this?”

With a sharp, upward thrust, Bruce felt a low moan escape him of, “Yes… god, yes.”

“How about this hayloft?”

“Yes, just… let me—”

“And how about the farm?”

Another thrust to the same spot, and Clark could have asked to drive the batmobile, and Bruce would agree. Blindly, Bruce yelled “yes”, until he could feel the burn coil inside of him and finally release.

By the end of it all, his back was still a little red from the scratchy wool and the spiky hay beneath it, and his entire body was soiled in sweat. If the cows hadn’t come, Bruce felt like he’d be the one covered in flies for the rotting he felt inside.

“I hate this damn hayloft.”


End file.
